My bones stutter in your absence
Such is longing, such is language
When the subject sustains bafflement.
I dust the rifts, the rickety cliffs
Ribs pulled open like a silk blouse.
You will never know the weight
Of this cart in occupancy,
The necessity of your gravity
In the consolation of my preemptive flights.
You will never know my devastation,
The vain rhetorical couplings
As I preach to a staccato moon.